To the Future
by Tusk Of Thyme
Summary: Laugh until mountains are brought down by your echoes. It doesn't matter because you can never go back. Can you? All He has left now are memories...
1. Traces of Todd

My mother raised me with a theory. She believed that nothing should be restricted, that nothing should be limited, for if it were, my brother and I wouldn't be able to teach ourselves how to keep it in moderation.

I can't help believing that she is completely and wholly correct.

As I lay here, counting ceiling tiles, I believe that this is what happens when children are sent to a school with their own gender. They become Todd Anderson.

He's had most of the girls I know as bedmates-you'd never expect it though by looking at him. He has that innocent schoolboy look about him still. It's only a matter of years before his jaw line firms and becomes angular, mature and manly. Then he'd kill with a wink of his eye.

The kisses he's pressing down my lower abdomen suddenly stop, the mattress shifts and I know he's moved away. I can't help but wonder why and sit up to see where he's gone- sitting hunched over at the side of his bed.

"I can't do this."

And my heart cracks as it reaches for him and I slide forward, wrapping my limbs around him and pressing my cheek to his. He still has his pants on and I'm wearing one of his white, button-down Oxford shirts. He unbuttoned it a while ago. It smells like him… smells like _Todd_.

I guess this is what drew me to him in the first place, his broken personality. Not many people seem to notice it because he's cute, intelligent and has a reputation of being a passionate bedmate. It would appear that sending him to an all boy's high school has made him thirst unquenchably for the exotic taste and sound of girls. Like I said, he has no moderation.

I suppose that's to be expected.

Todd _never_ lives his life in moderation and I only know that because I've been around him the entire two and a half years we've been in college together. He's terrible with money and time-management, eats sweets in excessive amounts, drinks in excessive amounts…he's a free spirit. Free but broken, like a Bald Eagle with a dislocated wing.

We only recently moved our friendship to…whatever this is. I don't want this to be a one-night stand but knowing Todd, it is. He's a person no one can hold onto for long. I've been lucky and logical in our years of friendship. We hardly spoke sophomore year and at the beginning of this one, he came sprinting up to me in the library, confessing how much he missed me and proceeded to eat my face off against one of the book cases. I thought he was _insane_.

"What about the promiscuity that you're so famous for, Todd?" I teased him affectionately and I feel him shift uncomfortably so I change my tactic. "It's…it's just _me_…" I whisper into his ear.

"I can't do this." He reiterates. Goddamnit rejection stings. It's even more humiliating that _I'm_ the one who has to leave _his_ room.

I uncurl off him, trying to hide my hurt because I know it's not what he needs right now and move to get off the bed but he catches my arm and yanks me down into his lap. "You don't _understand_…I can't _do this_ because…you _can't leave me_." He pleads and I find myself informing him I have no idea what he's talking about and I can see that he's torn so I'll stay. I whisper his name, letting him know that I'm here, that I've _always_ been here and start running my fingers gingerly down his face.

I'm convinced that this has more to do with his past then with me-he's never told me about his past, I think he's afraid to dip into it because it means he's going to have to face something he's trying to forget.

I _wish_ he'd _tell_ me, I wish he'd be as vulnerable with me as I am with him.

I love him.

I think I'll be damned before I actually _tell_ Todd that. He's uncomfortable with attachment. Telling him I love him will be the fastest way I loose him.

But God_damn_it, I fucking. Love. Him.

"Niccola," I pause, only because hearing him say my name is a rare occasion. It normally means he has something important to say. "Cubby," He whispers and I smile. There it is, my pet name.

I slide off his lap and sit next to him. It's hard trying to be proud and confident while I'm so naked-in _all_ senses. "I'm here Todd," I whisper back, repeating what I assured earlier. "And I always will be." He scoffs and the bed creaks as he stands and walks away.

"Don't make promises you can't _fuck_ing keep." And I know it's coming, a little part of his shrouded past which is really the best gift I could ever receive from anyone. I join him at the window, leaning my head on the back of his shoulder as I slide my hands around his waist. "Not you…not you of _all_ people." He's bitter and I just hold him tighter.

"Why would I break that promise to you?" Todd scoffs harshly and looks to the sliver of the moon.

"Because that promise is _always_ broken. My parents were _never_ there, my brother got married like, _right_ out of _high school_, Charlie was drafted to Nam, Pitts and Meeks are…_else_ where-" I can't help but frown as Todd starts rambling, I've never heard any of this before as his hysteria elevates. "_Knox_ is _fucking_ _MIA _and _Neil is fucking dead! Neil is dead! Oh my **God,** Neil! Neil is __**fucking dead!**_" And he's broken down completely.

Todd is shaking, crying and sobbing about Neil, constantly repeating how he's dead and I can do nothing but hold on and go for the ride with him. I think he's finally spilled his secret, he's spilled his past because Todd doesn't cry. He's never cried…not 'til now.

"_I loved him! I __**loved**__ him!_" He shouts and I'll save my surprise for later as Todd cries pitifully. "I _loved him_ and it _wasn't __**enough**_! It wasn't _**fucking**__ enough_ and he _**killed**_ himself! I _couldn't save_ him, he _killed_ himself!" He turns around and grabs my arms, shaking me as tears continue to spill from his sore, red eyes, "Don't _leave_ me, _don't_ ever _fucking_ leave me! Please! _Please_ Niccola, I love you…I _love_ you."

That night I let him have the solace he found in sex. I expected to be treated no differently then his past bedmates and when I woke up, he was gone. I scoffed, even though this was what I had expected, a part of me said _No Niccola, he loves you, he'll stay. He'll be back._ But he wasn't. He kept his distance from me for the rest of Junior year although…I would find traces of Todd.

There would be something left in my room, on my locker, on my seat. Our eyes would meet in classes and sometimes in the lunchroom but he never got within twenty feet of me and we _certainly_ _never_ spoke.

I guess the irony of the situation was that I lost Todd on _his_ terms. I never got to drive him away by confessing my love for him, he wasn't driven away by me, a _girl_ which I'm _sure_ is a _new_ experience for him.

He's drifted away from his crowds of friends, his lust for women seems to have been satiated-for awhile at least or so the _rumors_ have it.

I still love him.

One day it'll be Todd's turn to be saved. By then I hope to _God_ I've figured out how to save him because I will _not_ let him be my Neil, my lost case of unrequited love.


	2. Nuwanda's Nam

For now, the bullets have ceased in their fury, the air is tense and humid, we've been fighting against these Gooks for  
_days,_ we reek and are _caked_ with mud and the welts of mosquito bites yet, Dalton can still smile.

Fuckin' Charlie Dalton can still _smile_. "Hey, Walrus, smokes." Dalton smacks my shoulder in the cricket filled silence. Did I mention that we're standing waist-deep in a rice pattie, poised with our guns? I swear… Charlie bugs me again for some smokes and I flip them out of my front pocket, which he catches smoothly.

That's Charlie, always smooth.

Finally, I can take it anymore. "Charlie fuckin' Dalton, why the _hell_ do you have that shit-eating grin on your face?" I sound irritated and that just pleases him further.

"Why does _anybody_ smile in this shit-hole, Walrus? Cuz' I got somebody at home waitin' for me." His words disperse into the distance with a chuckle, "Sugar's sweet, so is he, bye bye black bird..." He sings lightly and I can tell he's thinking about her, whoever she is. Dalton never talks about anything personal-like.

I scoff in disbelief and shift as my feet start to get sucked down into the mud. I got a girl at home too but Dalton's must _really be something _if she can make him smile like that. I've seen the letters he's gotten from her, they're never like the ones Janice sends me. Her envelopes are always a soft pastel and perfumed like her which is nice. I get one a month, Charlie gets a plain envelop almost every other day and the returning address never has her name, just the initials S.M. He has a _shoebox_ full of those letters and the really "important" ones he keeps tied together with string over his chest. He's _such_ a romantic and so _ridiculously_ poetic.

"What's she like?" I whisper as though there are Viet Cong lurking nearby-which there probably _are_ and Charlie looks at me, thoroughly mystified as he tosses my packet back to me and dives a hand in a pocket as he starts humming to himself, "Oh my love is like a red, red, rose…" when he finds his lighter he looks up to me pointedly. "_She_ isn't like _anything_." And his smile leads me to believe that not only have I overlooked something but that he's also enjoying a private joke. "That's newly sprung in June…oh my love's the melody…"

Suddenly, I've placed the familiar words, he's reciting Robert Burns. I actually remember that from my freshman year in college, the English course I took. "That's sweetly played in tune…" I look at him and Charlie pats me on the shoulder.

"Never took _you_ for a poet."

I ignore his comment because my curiosity presses me on. "What does that _mean_, she's not _like_ _anything_?"

Charlie just shrugs as he blows smoke and offers me his lighter, "As fair art thou, my bonnie lass," He starts to chuckle to himself as I watch him intently and he sighs, "So deep in love, am I. I mean she's _really_ not like, _anything_. She's _nothing_."

I inform him the metaphor is lost on me and he laughs. "It's not a metaphor." I just stuck Dalton's odd behavior to his Pot usage. Or…his past-tense usage as it would seem his old lady reamed him out for it in one of her letters. "You can't have _nothing_ without _everything_…" I was waiting for him to say she was his everything, because that would suit Charlie but he didn't. "And I will love thee still my dear 'til all the seas go dry…" Or maybe he did in his own way. There was a reason he'd sit around and recite poetry-or, rea_sons_. I yet had to figure out his motives but I'm sure that part of it was a distraction, comfort and a reminder all at once.

I could hear the mosquitoes buzzing around my helmet. It was fruitless trying to get rid of them, needless to say, I started slapping my face hoping to rid the world of at least a few more of the blood suckers. Charlie props his M60 strategically on the hill in front of us that gives us some decent cover and steps back laxly to enjoy his cigarette.

Suddenly we hear rounds of fire being shot at us and Obnoxious commands for us to fire back, Dalton dives for his machine gun and we start firing back at the noises we hear. If they are 900 meters away or closer, those V.C.'s are fucking _McGooks_, you dig? These M-60's are belt-fed and fire over 600 rounds a minute. "Come to Papa!" I hear myself roar through the ammunition fire. The guy on the side of me is counting how many he hits but Dalton tries to remain calm-as always.

He used to fire in the air or grimace through the whole thing, "'Till all the s-seas go _dry m-m'dear_," Charlie is never without poetry, even though he shakes with the force his M-60 punches out and grunts in pain. "And the r-rocks m-melt with the s-sun-" We duck as there's an explosion near us sending dirt, water and shrapnel whipping through the thick air.

A collective primitive yell rings through the air and I can see that those goddamn slant-eyes are charging at us and we fucking mow them down. Each and everyone. Bullets rip through knees, chests and heads as one by one a voice to their charge is cut short. "I will love th-thee _s-still m-m…__**dear**_ as the s-sands of life sh-shall run!" Dalton grunts as he continues moving his M-60 from side to side.

Dalton's trying to not watch as he silently cries. His helmet has the black words 'WORLD PEACE' penned onto the side. It's not hypocritical, most of us _want_ peace and we _sure as hell_ _want_ to _go home_. "And f-fare thee well my _only love,_ f-fare th-thee well f-for a while!"

I don't know what the fuck we're doing here, I really don't. I know that Dalton chose this just to spite his rich, over-bred parents but it's taking a toll on him.

I don't flinch as I hear a bullet whiz past my head, I'm too focused at the moment and adrenaline is pulsing in my hears as I hear light _tinks_ of bullets hitting metal, _thwaps_ of bullets burying themselves in the ground where they shall slumber and injure never again and the sounds of explosions are deafening. I hear someone down the line cheer in a typical southern Hick fashion.

Dalton and I will make fun of him later as it would appear the rest of the Gooks are now retreating. I don't have the heart to shoot them down like the other guys. We cheer and laugh, a small portion of the war was currently won and I look over to pat Dalton on the back but…he's not there. His M-60 is gone too.

My stomach freezes and I look down slowly, shit-scared of what I'm going to see.

Dalton's on his side, eyes unblinking and half of him is covered in muddy water and without thinking I fall next to him, shaking him. "No _No __**NO!**__ Fuck! __**Charlie!**_ Get up man! _Get the fuck up!_ _**CHARLIE!**_" Some of the other guys are tugging at my arms as I fight against them. No, NO I _can't_ loose Charlie! Not here, not like this! He's my best friend, we've always been there for each other ever since we were dragged into this crazy bullshit.

Some guys lift m from under my arms as I start throwing punches at everyone and everything. "He's _gone,_ Walrus!" "Let him go!" "A casualty of _war_, man." "Pack it _in_ Walrus. We gotta move." And all the while I'm screaming No. I can't leave him here, I can't leave Charlie-I **won't** leave Charlie because I know that he would _**never**_ leave _me_. Finally, they give in and soon I have six guys helping me carry Charlie back to camp as tears make clean lines down my grease paint camouflage.

Charlie is laid done outside the medical tent and I go into his chest pocket; pulling out his most treasured possession, his letters. I figure that I should write to her and let her know what happened, that some should really back up the fact that Charlie Dalton _is_ a hero. I realize that Charlie never got to open the most recent letter he received and I break down sobbing at how unfair this all is.

As I convulse with short breaths and gasps, my dirty, shaking fingers gingerly open the envelope and I lick my lips, preparing to read it to Charlie.

"Charlie, I-I miss you. I want you home...again…soon," It takes me several minutes to steady myself before I can continue. "I m-miss your mischievous smile and your s-sly tactics. Remember that time you visited me in college? We w-woke up t-together Friday m-morning. It was raining and I was w-wearing your sweater. That s-sweater is…is…" I wiped my tears away and found the determination to finish as I clenched the paper tightly.

"Is one of my most valued possessions. I missed all my classes that day, all because you seduced me into spending the day with you in bed with the curtains open so we could hear the rain. You even played your Sax for me-only wearing a beret," I laugh at that because it's _so_ Charlie.

"I heard from Todd, he's fallen in love with the female equivalent to Neil, he calls her Cubby because Niccola is too close to _his_ name. He messed it up though, we may have to help him out."

I fight to keep the bitterness out of my voice as I continue because Charlie's _gone_. "I miss you Dalton. One day you'll come home and I will never let you leave me like this again. Keating's getting married, he has a job in England again. We all understand why. It'll be nice to see the Captain again-we were invited to the wedding which will take place in Lemington Spa. Maybe then we can take a break and go to France-I know how you've always wanted to go there since it's the birth place of the beatnik revolution. I love you Charlie, Ste…_Steven!?_"

I'm not disgusted, just surprised and now I understand what Charlie meant. She's nothing, nothing because _she_ doesn't exist but Steven does and he is Charlie's everything.

Was. Was Charlie's everything.

I remember something else and I look between Charlie and his letter bitterly. "And I will come again my love though it were ten thousand miles…" He never finished his poem.


	3. Meeks's Melancholy

Steven's been in bed for days, the entire house is dark with the curtains drawn. I'm sitting in the floor outside of his closed bedroom door, looking at the doorknob expectantly. There's a muffled noise and I lower my head sympathetically before I lightly hit the door to let him know I'm out here. He needs a hug.

_Mr. Steven Meeks,_

When I hear no noise, I ask him to let me in again and paw at the door again. I don't like him being alone, Not since I saw him reading a letter on the couch, a hand clapped over his mouth; convulsing as he cried. When I jumped on the couch next to him, he squeezed me so hard I couldn't breathe. "_Charlie's dead, Coon_…"He whispered. Charlie? Charlie dead? I dwelt on the matter later, what was important then was Steven, and he still is.

_We don't know each other directly but we both have a common acquaintance… a Mr. Charles Dalton. _

I hear shuffling and the white door opens just enough to let me slip through as Steven shuffles back to the bed and buries himself in the duvet. I leap on top of him, kneading at what I think could be his hip and ask if he's ok, trying to get some sense of life out of him. I miss it when he used to pick me up and spin me around as he listened to the radio, singing along with the music. He was so _happy_…

_I am writing to you on his behalf because I know how important you are to each other. I also know because you are not a blood relative, you will not be receiving the news I am regrettably sending you. _

I ask him if he's okay again and he throws back the covers on his head and looks at me. His eyes are dull and red, I ask his permission to hug him as I cautiously step through the dips and hills of the duvet. When he doesn't move, I rub against his bare chest and he pulls me in close. "What am I gonna _do_, Coon?" His voice cracks and he bites his lip. "_What am I going to do… without Charlie?_" He whispers into my fur. Stray tears roll down his face as I try to comfort him. I don't know, I tell him, what _are_ you going to do? There's a _reason_ we cats try to net get too attached to who we mate. _This_ is that reason.

_Charles Dalton…Charlie was shot and killed instantly June 12__th__, 1964 and I can't tell you how sorry I am for your loss._

I had been a present from Charlie to Steven on his twentieth birthday, the day they had also decided to rent out a duplex together which sat fifteen minutes away from their college. What? You're surprised Charlie went to the same college as Steven? Don't be. Charlie was a genius with no drive and Steven is a genius because he studied so hard and has a purpose for his life or... did. "_Coon…_" I lick Steven's hand as I'm sure he's recalling me as his present from Charlie. It was one of the happier times.

_You may have noticed his Dog Tags in the envelope…I thought it was only right that you got them._

He breaths a laugh through his tears as I lick his palm, one of his ticklish areas. "You won't leave me, will you Coon?" I don't reply as I purr and curl up next to him. We both know I'll leave, one day but then again, so will he and it'll be without his years of Charlie that he imagined.

_I don't think I have to tell you what a great guy Charlie was. He was my first friend here and always looked out for me-he saved my life more than once. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to save his._

He'll never see Charlie smile again, Charlie won't be there when he graduates college, Charlie's laugh will be come a memory as will the smirk he wore.

_I'll be sending you all of his belongings, his parents don't deserve any of them. I just want to say that he really loves you-I say that because love isn't something that can be destroyed by any ammunition. The thought of you always kept him going, always kept him smiling._

They'll never fight over pillows again or dance to ridiculous Christmas songs in the middle of summer. Steven will never again watch the pleasure on Charlie's face after eating banana pancakes or laugh when he trips over himself in the park. Charlie wouldn't splash him at the fountain anymore or tackle him in bed at night.

_I was in the 25__th__ Infantry Division with him and I can't tell you how much I'll miss Charlie. The last poem he recited was Oh My Love's a Red Rose by Robert Burns. I somehow feel that's important to impart to you._

"You know what Coon?" Steven asked as he rubbed my head and I purred against his hand. "We're just going to have to honor him in the best way we know how, lot's of red, and lot's of gold…"

_My sincerest condolences,_

_Private First Class Milton W. Warbeck_


	4. Pleasure of Pitts

Gerard Pitts loved New York. He had a cozy little studio apartment and was in college majoring in chemical engineering. Currently, he was walking home. It had rained earlier so the air seemed clearer and there were puddles cradled in the uneven streets. Puddles that Gerard went out of his way to not avoid as he jumped up and down in each one he came across. Typical behaviour of a young college student in love.

He was breathless, laughing and wet when he reached his apartment door and unlocked it, his hands shaking slightly from his exhilaration.

He opened the green door with blistering paint and leapt up the uneven and threadbare stairs before reaching the landing in front of the frosted glass of his front door.

He dropped his black leather brief case,-and his keys-emptying his hands before he pushed the door open. "Gerard!" He stood with his arms open wide and a knowing smirk as he heard sprinting footsteps.

As I ran into the main room, it didn't register that Gerard was wet-that is, until I jumped on him. I squealed and he laughed but I didn't really mind as I cupped his face and littered him with a frenzy of kisses and he teetered off balance.

Once, we did actually fall down the stairs and it's really an experience that I don't need to repeat.

We look at each other and he's smiling because I'm wearing the shirt he had on yesterday and it's like a dress on me. I like it because it smells like him. "Why are you all wet?" I scold mockingly and he hums through his white smile.

"I thought I'd surprise you tonight." And his sentence ends with a kiss to my nose before I slide down to the floor. I look down to my shirt and laugh to see how wet it is, we look at his shirt and laugh at the flour I transferred on him.

"Well, I have a surprise to you too. Come, come come come," I hook his arm over my shoulder and drag him to the kitchen.

"Yees, I noticed that you seemed to have a lack of paint and clay on you. My God Melody, without it, you're practically naked!" He shields his eyes as I laugh.

"Aren't you cute?" I feel him hesitate behind me as we pass the living room and sees the mail on the table, "Noo, love letters from admirers will have to wait," I tease as he scoffs and continue to pull him into the kitchen. "Close your eyes." Soon after he complies, I swipe some of he icing I've made out of a bowl and nudge his lower lip.

"Hohm mm Gom," I laughed as he opened his eyes and returned my finger, "That was delicious! Hey…bring it back…" I laugh as he grabs my hand with intent, "The icing was pretty good too…" He comments with that telltale look in his eye and I know that all of my projects are going to be on hold for a while as he starts unbuttoning my shirt.

Bad boy.

About an hour later we're laying in the floor and I'm hugging his chest with our legs entwined. A brief laugh is shared when we realized that we've picked up a fine coating of white that was left on the floor from when I was baking earlier.

"Now I'm tired."

"You started it." I reminded as his chest heaves with an agreeing chuckle.

There's a pause as he stares up at our ceiling and I nuzzle his chest. "I love you." The words rumble through him and I giggle before replying.

"I love you too."

"I," He exhales with effort as he sits up and I with him. "Love you three." He kisses my head after he's helped me up and goes off to investigate the mail. Me in my new lack of energy decided that yesterday's leftovers of chicken salad will suffice as sandwiches for dinner tonight.

Gerard shouts something, I can tell he's pleased but he's too far away for me to have understood what he said. "What?"

He appears in the kitchen door way with a red envelop in his hands. "A letter, from Meeks."

Sometimes during vacations Pitts and his friends would meet up; Meeks was the only one to ever come over to the house, he'd sometimes bring his friend Charlie. They'd always lament the lack of Anderson and Perry before their conversation changed.

"How is Steven?" I inquire as I finish a sandwich and move onto the next one.

Gerard laugs and shakes his head, "I have no idea."

"Just a thought and all, but why don't you try opening the letter?" I tease as Gerard looks at me with his yeah-I-knew-that expression and sits down at the table while I hear paper ripping.

"It kinda looks like an invitation…" I hum as he opens the card and I start slicing apples.

"Lemonade?" I ask when I bring the plates over. His expression is unreadable so I nudge his shin with my foot. "Hey, what do you want to drink?" I ask softly even though his gaze hasn't left the card.

"…I'm uh, going to need something harder than lemonade—"

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately, rounding him and placing my hand on his shoulders so I could glance at the card.

"Charlie is dead." I don't know how to take the news and I whisper an apology and hold him close.

Gerard didn't eat anything that night. Neither did I. As soon as I apologized he stood and carried me into the bedroom and held me close all night. I felt stupid-like I should be the one comforting him and not the other way around. The next day, neither one of us went to school, partly because Gerard wouldn't let me go and I didn't have the heart to fight him.

"We're going."


	5. Knox's Night

I'm going to tell you right now, there are few things in the world hotter than a Haitian sun. Especially since I've been carrying bricks and mixing cement all day. Mission work is really no joke but hey, I'm building a school and it makes me feel like I have a purpose in life.

I have this idea that people who have no idea where they're going or where they want to go always end up somewhere like here. I'm not Christian-my buddy Knox is-but I'm lost and I believe that through helping other people I'll find what I need to help myself. Selfish, I know.

I can't tell you how nice it is to have lunch brought out to us. I love these little girls that smile coyly behind their lashes. They deserve so much more. "Knox!" I see him hammering at a roof, the sun reflecting of the shining layer of sweat that he's accumulated in the heat. "Lunch! Come into the shade before you get heat stroke." I look up at him, I'm weighing down his ladder so he doesn't fall and _die_ when he tries to get down.

Loosing Knox would be bad. Not that the other guys aren't great too, he just seems more than usually dedicated. Always the first one out, always the last one in. He doesn't talk much, I sorta wish he would because he seems like a neat guy. We've swapped a few stories over meal times and that's about as well as I know him.

"Thanks man," his smile is lopsided as he punches me in the shoulder and we walk towards the shade together. A little girl in a red dress tripped up to us with a shy smile, her eyes on the finely ground dust road as she offers us a plate of rice each. Knox smiles recognizing her and takes the plate and hands it to me as he lifts her up and spins her around. Her giggling cuts through his smooth French as he-I assume-praises her and occasionally calls her by her name. "Rosi-Anne!"

I'm half-jealous. My French sounds like I'm about to vomit babies.

He hugs her and carries her towards the food where her mother, Serafine, is standing. Now, I'm not going to lie, Serafine has many times caught my eye-and others. I don't normally look at coloured women, but she is _gorgeous_. She has a deep husky voice, angular face and these black eyes that move gently, her lips are full and her dark skin is smooth. She's tall-taller than me and Knox and she has that serpentine body that you just want to see on a pole or _something_.

Knox is ever the gentleman though, as he carries Rosi-Anne to her very young mother and engages the widowed Serafine in conversation. I think she likes him. It's something about the way they lean into each other and she tucks her long black dreadlocks behind her ear as her eyes coyly flick from the ground to his face.

Good on him.

He had broken out of a serious relationship after college, it was one of the reasons he had decided to come on a mission trip in the first place, something about a change of scenery and all.

We all needed a change of scenery. "Courrier!" A man shouted, his tatty bicycle that I think had once been blue, kicked up a cloud of dust as he rang his rusted bell. My eyes met Knox as we shared a bitter expression. We never got mail.

Rosi-Anne and other young children her age ran after the ringing mail man trying to catch him as he tried to dismount his bike with a clumsy smile that masked his irritation as his tattered blue pant had fists trying to trip him up. Knox and I laughed, we stepped over to him and relieved him of his mail bundle, handing it to Mr. Johnson the leader and Guru of this whole thing.

Knox returned to the side of Serafine and I, happily, just sat under the shade with the local rum in my hand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Johnson pull Knox out of his conversation, he looks confused as Johnson holds out a scarlet envelope for his taking. Words are exchanged and I can see Serafine's pearly smile-Overstreet can be such a charmer.

Johnson leaves the pair alone and Serafine is urging him to open it, only when he does, he chokes, falters and leans heavily against the building he was standing near like all the strength has been sucked out of him.

Serafine is trying to comfort him but just walks away. It doesn't take a genius to realize it's news Knox wishes he hasn't heard. He'll tuck it away, not wanting to burden anyone with his problems but I'll get it out of him. Even if it takes goggles and a pick-axe.

It's after dinner, it's dark out and the moon is a thin sliver of almond in the sky. I've walked a good distance away to the beach with my messenger bag that clinks against my thigh. God damn, I love the beach. My shoes peel off easily enough before I start walking in the plane where water and sand harmoniously coexist.

I hear sobbing and look up to see Knox huddled on the dryer part of the beach. I realize why he's secluded himself away because his crying sounds like someone recovering from the pain of nearly drowning.

I drop down next to him. He doesn't pay any mind towards the new company or the whispering sand. His head jerks as I nudge him with one of the glass bottles of rum that I stashed away in my bag for this very purpose. "Drink Overstreet." I instruct as one of his limp hands swipes the air for the bottle.

"I'm cursed.' He announces as he tries to control his sobs. I say nothing as I take a pull of the dark liquid in my bottle and just listen to him. "I lost Chris, my family has cut ties with me and now Charlie," His voce cracks as his friend's name is spoken, "Is with Neil. Dead."

So that's what happened. I nod to myself as I hear Knox shift and hoist himself up. "I was supposed to go with him but, like the chicken shit I am, I came here and let Charlie get killed by some fucking slant-eyed bastard." And such is the way of the times.

"My brother is in Nam," I comment because I have no idea what to say. "So is my cousin Lennie but I think he is actually spread out across the country. Got blown half to hell when he stepped on a land mine." Knox is calmer now, he didn't laugh and it makes me think I made it worse somehow. I look at the reflection in my bottle before I take another drink. I don't feel much for laughing either.

"Oh," He exhales, his breath his more even and he throws his now empty bottle into the waves. "God damn." My eyebrows are raised. I've never seen so much liquor put away in such a short span of time before. "Any more?" He asked pitifully and I nod, dragging my messenger bag a little closer to my side.

"Not for a while though, cowboy." He scoffs bitterly and stares out to the water.

"He was my best friend. I mean, my _very best_. He was a flit, you know, but there was no one more hardcore than Charlie fuckin' Dalton…it should've been me."

"If it had been you then Serafine would still be in the shadows, timid and cautious. You've done a good deed bringing her out into the light." I decided the only way to rouse the poor bastard from his pity arty is to bring up that dark beauty. I see that he's modest but agrees with the way a corner of his mouth twitches.

"I'm fucking crazy about her." He exhales wistfully an his back hits the beach, staring up at the dark sky. "She's really intelligent." I shrug indifferently as rum finds itself into my mouth. Ah what the hell, I give him another bottle and he tips his head in thanks. "I was so sure Charlie the cockroach would out live us all…he had someone too, you know." His face is bitter and even though I didn't know, I nod anyway. "Yeah, sure, Steven. Think Johnson will let me go to the funeral?"

"As if he wouldn't." There's a long pause as the beach fills in handsomely for our lack of conversation.

"Think Serafine will come with me?" Now that's a question I can't answer.

Either way, the only way we get to sleep that night after we both pass out in a drunken stupor as that almond slice of moon is overtaken by the blinding light of the sun


	6. Cameron's Catastrophe

Another red X is crossed on the calendar and I smile. Seven months, three weeks and two days. Even though pregnancy this awful high and low, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervously excited for the final result.

I run a manicured hand over my swollen abdomen and chuckle. My friends have all told me a wear pregnancy _unusually_ well and they're all jealous. Honestly I'm just glad I haven't ballooned up to whale size, personally even though I am rounder than I'm really comfortable with.

I cap my pen and look back up to the calendar, frowning as my eyes drift back to the few past days where I can pinpoint when Richard starting acting so strangely. Part of me is absolutely terrified that he may be having an affair because I'm currently fat and expecting. I suppose I'll have to turn a blind eye to it. If he is then at least I'll have a new baby to play with while he plays with his secretary.

I feel my forehead tighten and I know I'm working myself into a mood. With a calming breath, I decided to make some tea as I lumber about the grandiose kitchen.

I can't say I'm in love with Richard Cameron. Well, perhaps I am but it's never what I hear described in books or TV programs. We were just an appealing couple that was expected to get married.

I honestly don't think Ricky would cheat on me. He really does try his best-but then again, you never know, men and all. I think they're all easily corruptible. Then again, that's hypocritical of me to say. I had my doubts about marrying him until he flashed that loud diamond ring in my face. I was easily swayed with the promise of a comfortable and lazy life.

It's not the end or the world, Daddy bought this house for us. It's a nice little place-pretty and dressed in warm, comfortable colours. Ricky works part time in his bank so I don't see him much between his work and school. It's all a little insane but he seems to know nothing else and is happy so I'm that plastic, emotionless sort of 'happy' for him because he's happy. Does that make sense?

A door slams distantly in the house and I sigh, cautiously sitting down at the table, waiting for the water to boil. I can hear him approaching and in a few minutes his dark, fist-clenched expression is in view. "Hey Ricky…" I murmur and he pauses, looking at me I see his fist loosen.

"Delores," He breathes and he hugs me loosely as my eyes widen. Maybe he finally is shaking out of his black mood.

"What's been up with you?" I kiss his ear before he draws away to tend to the whistling kettle.

"What tea?" He asks, ignoring my previous question and I deflate with a sigh. I have no idea why I thought he'd tell me in the first place.

"Something herbal-something,:" I hold my 'm in thought as he looks at me expectantly. "Nice." I finish. "Something that you'll like too." I smile warmly as he stoically prepares that tea. "So, I've missed you over the past couple of days." I comment off hand, trying to draw him into conversation. He just hums and continues with his task at hand.

"School and work have been _killer_." His voice is rather hoarse, I'm just pleased he's responded.

"Is that all?" I pause and realize that may have come across rather hostile as he stiffens. "You seem tenser than usual 'just work' stress…normally you talk to me about work-" I'm interrupted by the phone ringing and Ricky holds up one finger, signaling he'll be a moment. Before he leaves the kitchen, he kisses me on the forehead and rushes to the phone in the living room.

The tea will take time to steep, I sigh and wring my hands-a nervous habit that I developed when I had the comforting friction of my wedding ring. Unfortunately, I'm bloated to the point that I can't wear it anymore. Ugh, _pregnancy_. My hands flutter for a moment until I remember that I've put it on a chain around my neck-it means a lot to Ricky and I aim to keep him as happy as I can while I'm…like this.

Only…now I'm worried because it's not th-oh, _right_ I stand, swaying to regain my balance before I'm out to the entrance of the house. I took it off when I last came home because it had tangled in a scarf an was just _frustrating me_ to no end. Maybe that's why Ricky's been rather stiff-who knows?

As I walk down the hallway with the geometrically patterned stone designs in the floor and red wood walls, My eyes pass his study. The door is slightly ajar and it's dark because he's drawn the curtains. I resist temptation to wander in. I've been prone to sneaking in there because for some reason it reminds me of my father. A little nostalgia is refreshing every now and then.

I like how I have the entry way. There's a smooth, natural wood coat rack off to one side with a few coats-Ricky's is on top and I finger the ash coloured cashmere gingerly. His father gave it to him last Christmas, he looked stunned and I still don't know why. It's _just_ Cashmere.

Parallel to that is a nice little painted cabinet, a warm red that has knick-knacks smattered across the surface. There it is, my ring. It's on a fluid gold chain that matches the cradle of that outrageous diamond. I'm sure that my Father paid for that ring-regardless how he and Ricky protest against my teasing accusations. It looks like something my mother would have wear-and she _knows_ it_. _It's funny, really.

Anyway, I have it back around my neck and it's settles comfortable as I breeze back to the kitchen. This time, I creep into Ricky's study first.

It's really the chair that does it. I feel like I'm five years old-a _fat_ five years old- as I sink into the plush black leather. I can't help but laugh to myself. Really, what the hell was I thinking? Married at this age, a baby on the way and living in my own house? It's like my clothes are too big. We didn't even want a baby this soon to begin with…

I'm distracted by a loud, red card on his desk with gold writing. It's ridiculously pretty-when I open it I feel like I've figured out why Ricky's been acting so strange lately. I would be too if someone I knew died.

Hmm…the funeral is in a few weeks, I can't help but wonder why he hasn't said anything to me about it…Charlie Dalton…that name sounds so familiar-I just can't place it-"Delores? Tea is ready!"

"Coming!" I call back standing carefully on my feet. There's a small jab of pain to my abdomen and I sigh. Clumsy me, stupid desk. I feel so inelegant as I trod down the hallway-there's another strange pang in my abdomen and now I'm worried. I can't-couldn't-no. No, not yet.

"Are you okay?" He's standing at the end of the hallway with two plain mugs in his hands and a wary expression. I nodded and he indicated towards the tea, "I made raspberry because, uhm, I know you like it…" Richard hates raspberry tea. I'm pretty sure he sees how terrified I am because God knows I can't hide it. "What's-"

"The baby, the baby's early." I'm clutching my abdomen, scared and crying. I can't loose my baby! Before I can look to Richard, He's pushing me out the front door, hastily grabbing clothes.

"Get in the car." I'm just standing at the front door, feeling useless. Panic is clamoring in my throat as Richard nudges me out the door and I push back against him.

"No, no!" Going to the hospital will only confirm my fears.

"Delores! Get in the car!" He's getting angry, frustrated, frazzled-I don't know, I don't _care_.

"No! Richard! I can't, I _can't_," I'm crying now at the thought of loosing my baby. "Too young! Not ready-not _yet!_ Richard _please_ not my baby!" I shrieked and his hands are on my shoulders, shaking me in my hysterics.

"Not. My. _Wife_." His hands are on my face as he looks at me firmly. "We are _going_ to the Hospital and I _will_ make sure _you will_ be safe," He kisses me, hard in what I assume is an attempt to make me shut up or calm down. "If I take care of you, you can take care of our baby. Now please, _please_ Delores, _get in the car._"


	7. The End

"Charlie…was twenty-six when he died." Steven struggled to keep his composure. So many people turned out for his funeral-technically, it was more of a memorial service but, right now for Steven it was all the same thing.

All the Dead Poets were there, Mr. Keating and his wife, even Charlie's family had shown up and, with a shuddering exhale, Steven carried on as his eyes passed over familiar faces.

"Charlie Dalton has ceased to be, bereft of life, he rests in peace, he has kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, snuffed it, breathed his last, and gone to meet the Great Head of Light Entertainment in the sky." Steven bit his lip at the few stifled giggles he heard. He couldn't believe he was about to do this.

Scanning in front of him he met the eyes of Captain, who gave him a polite nod-it was all the encouragement Steven needed.

"And… I guess that we're all thinking how sad it is that a man of…of such _talent_, such _capability for kindness_, for such-such…_ unusual_ intelli-gence," Steven faltered, his voice cracking slightly as a wave of memories hit him. Still, with his fingers fisted on the wooden podium, Steven continued.

"A man who could overcome his problems with such _truly_ admirable single-mindedness, should now so _suddenly_ be spirited away at the age of only twenty-six before he'd achieved many of the things in which he was capable. And, of course," A smile danced on Steven's lips, "before he'd had enough _fun_." He paused, looking to the shifting audience, searching for agreement, approval or something before he wet his lips.

"Well, I feel that I should say, 'Nonsense!" Steven slapped the podium, "Good riddance to him, the freeloading bastard!" The space was filled with thick laughter as Steven continued. Yes, this is definitely the way Charlie would have had it. " I hope he fries-and the reason I feel I should say this to you," he slowed, somber as the laughter faded and he explained why he wasn't lecturing on all the beautiful things Charlie was and meant to him. "Is he would never, _never_ forgive me if I didn't. If I threw away this fantastic opportunity to shock you all on his behalf. It's not a funeral, mind you, but a memorial service is still pretty good."

The air was different now, relaxed and calm. Sort of like when Steven and Charlie would go to a hole in the wall café on Fridays for open mic and Charlie's saxophone made the air hum.

"I'd do anything for him except have mindless good taste." Steven dipped his head in a bow, hiding his smile before he looked back to the red and gold crowd placidly.

"I could actually _hear _ him whispering in my ear last night as I was writing this. 'all right Meeksie' he said 'if this service is _really_ for me, just for starters, I want you to become the first person ever at an American memorial service…to say _fuck_." The red and gold clad audience _roared_ with laughter, the colours shimmering as their bodies shook.

"It is magnificent, isn't it? You see, the thing about _shock_ . . . is not that it upsets some people, I think; I think that it gives others a momentary joy of _liberation_, as we realized in that instant that the social rules that constrict our lives so terribly are not actually very important. Well, Charlie can't do that for us anymore. He's gone. He is an ex-Dalton. All we have of him now is our memories. But it will be some time before they fade." Steven finished neatly, he was the last speaker at the service and the audience stood, applauding him.

All Steven wanted to do was find an empty dark place and cry. He missed Charlie so terribly much it constricted his chest and numbed his mind. Every night he had dreams of Charlie-a living, laughing Charlie with an eager mouth and insistent hands.

There was a low whistle from an empty pew-empty now only because everyone had gone to hug Steven ferociously. "You talked to him last night, did you?" unseen to the naked human eye, Neil Perry sat, swinging his legs.

"You know damn well I haven't left him for a second." His invisible counter part stared at the core of the congregated crowd. Somewhere inside there was Steven. His chest started to convulse. "Dear God, this is torture." Charlie gasped and Neil's hand clapped down on his shoulder with a grim expression, "He's right there," Charlie started to try and suppress his sobs to no avail, "He's right _fucking_ _there_ and …and I can't have him, I can't touch him-he can't see me-" Neil cradled Charlie into his chest as his friend breaks down. "_I want him back Neil, so bad!_" Charlie cried so hard he couldn't make any noise-Neil just held him tighter. Neil, even though he'd loose one of his best friends, had a plan.

"Charlie, Charlie…I think I can help you."

* * *

An hour later, Delores Cameron gave birth to a beautiful, healthy boy. Not too much later, she was happily settled in a hospital room recovering and with her joy swaddled and close to her chest.

"Delores…" Richard entered, approaching his beaming wife for the first time after her delivery. He was scared, nervous-He was so worried he would be a terrible parent, that his child would hate him but as soon as she, the beautiful yet tired woman pressed that power blue blanket into his chest, Richard was convinced everything was going to be okay.

"I'm so sorry," She mumbled, her head tilted in shame as Richard snapped his head from his son to his wife. "I know it was your friend's funeral today…I'm so sorry we missed it."

Richard didn't reply, he just stared down at the wonder he held in his hands.

In the shadows, Neil stepped out, watching Richard's face. "The irony of this is too good to be true," He laughed to himself and approached the baby. His translucent finger touched the baby's hand. "I'll see you again soon." He promised, smiling at the baby's noise before Neil disappeared into a wisp of incense smoke and left the new family behind.

Delores lay back on her pillows, smiling as she watched the interaction. "I was thinking we should name him Charlie…"

"Charlie," Richard echoed. "Charlie Cameron." Charlie gurgled eliciting a smile from Richard. "You are _so_ lucky you look like your mother."

* * *

_Disclaimer: 99.7% of Steven's speech-written by John Cleese for Graham Chapman._

_I have to say, I believe it was fitting and I whole heartedly agree.  
_


	8. And Everything After

Sixteen years from that day, Charlie Cameron, with messy tawny hair hidden under a beret with his amber eyes gleaming and a smirk on his face, will jauntily heading towards his English class.

No doubt about it, he did look like his mother. He was lean and sinuous with trouble written all over his face. His features were pointed yet his manner somewhat soft-caring to say the least. He certainly lived up to his namesake.

Charlie sat down and casually conversed with his friends, he was disappointed to learn that his favorite teacher, Mr. Paulson, had to leave because his father had fallen ill and would be gone for a lengthily amount of time.

Then the substitute will walk in and call the class to order to begin the first lesson of the day. "I went into the words because I wanted to live deliberately," His voice grabbed the attention of the class as conversation abruptly stopped. "I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life," Charlie found himself entranced, struck by this newcomer as he continued on, "To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived." The class was hushed, anticipating what came next. "The words of?"

Charlie's hand shot into the air, "Henry David Thoreau!"

"Very good, Mister?"

"Cameron, Charlie Cameron, Mister?" Charlie cheekily returned the question, smiling when the sub smiled.

"A Mr. Steven Meeks."

Charlie's mouth fell open as he felt a dull ache at the back of his head. _Steven Meeks…I know that name…_

* * *

_Yes, I totally just went there_

_Okay, I have some chapters that elaborate on the memories shared between Meeks and Charlie. Should I add them on here, yes or no?_

_Let me know please!!  
_


	9. You Have to Go

_One of three to come. Just like I promised-before I write the sequel and all. Then again, there's a prequel I'm writing too-have I said to much? _

_These are just little snapshots in Steven's and Charlie's relationship/lives after high school, before Charlie died annd I think that's all I have to say._

_

* * *

  
_

Sleep-drugged eyes greeted the light of the world begrudgingly. After a quick survey of the bland grey and white dorm room, brown eyes flicked to the source of light.

The bed sheets whispered as Steven sat up as if in a trance. "It's raining." white sheets tangled around his body as he stared at the feathery grey light that shied in from the naked window.

Increasing collections of raindrops were smattered across the glass as he absently pulled at his frazzled curly hair. A swear escaped when his eyes landed on the clock and his hands started groping at the floor for his pants. When he felt the familiar material, he sat back down on the bed with a bounce and a muffle of protest emitted from the sheets.

A warm, pale hand slid up Steven's curved back and drooped over one of his shoulders as a sigh sounded behind him while he continued to yank he pants on.

"It's _just_ raining," A chaste kiss was pressed to Meeks's ear "Where are you going?"

Steven scoffed and fell back into the bare chest behind him. A smile graced his face as bare arms enveloped him. The two continued to stare out the window silently; they listened to the tapping of the Chicago rain.

"_Class_ Charlie. Some of us _do_ things at college—!" His voice lifted an octave higher as he was tackled and pinned down to the bed.

"Well, I _do_ _you_ at college which is certainly _something_."

"…This isn't your college. It doesn't count." Steven shot back flatly as Charlie straddled him, Meeks expression turned grim as he suddenly remembered that their time together was short-lived.

"You better take that statement _back, Mr. Meeks, _or I'll be forced to do it for you." He kissed Steven's wrists and smiled when Meeks released a breath of calming air.

An innocent kiss was pressed to Steven's freckled face. "I have to go to class—" Meeks started again.

"It's _raining_." Charlie interrupted Steven's protest. "Really, there's no reason to go outside. C'mon, we woke up too early, let's go back to sleep." He rolled off him and then enveloped Steven in a hug that had Charlie snickering and Meeks rolling his eyes affectionately.

"Charlie," Steven whined and shook his head despite the fact that he didn't make an effort to break out of Charlie's embrace. "You-_c'mon_, I have to get to class!"

"We have everything we need right here, let's pretend it's the weekend. It's Friday, Steven, please…"

Truth was, Steven was having a hard time saying no. Charlie went to school in New Jersey and he always skipped out whenever he could to travel to Chicago for Steven. The only problem was, sometimes Charlie couldn't wasn't able to slip out so they'd sometimes go for weeks at a time without each other. Meeks didn't know about Charlie, but there was a physical _ache_ in his chest whenever Charlie was gone, he _hated_ it.

This time, the break had been about three weeks until Charlie had come for a blissful week. Steven decided missing one day of classes wasn't going to _kill_ him…

He didn't get a chance to tell Charlie because suddenly he was being kissed and touched and the sentence on his tongue melted like sugar as he arched up into Charlie.

His toes curled, Charlie's tongue slid down Steven's pale neck and he gripped at Charlie's shoulders for dear life. His eyes squeezed shut and his lower lip caught between his teeth as he let Charlie seduce him. Jesus, this may be a repeat of the earlier weekend when Charlie had shown up unannounced on Saturday but he had_ missed_ it. They both did.

"I don't understand," Charlie kissed the u-junction of Steven's collarbones, smirking when his partner squirmed beneath him. "What it is that you do," he continued to move down and across Steven's chest slyly, triumphantly grinning every time Steven's breath hitched letting Charlie know what he was doing was right. "That makes you taste so. Damn. Good."

Heat overwhelmed Steven, filling him with an ache of lust. With his eyes shut, the normally barren sight was filled with pulsing colors of red, black and orange, swirling and pulsating as his hands gripped at Charlie's hair and he released a breathy moan. And then Steven spoke. He hadn't planned it, words had just come out of his mouth, without any prior thought.

"Transfer to Columbia."

He felt Charlie stiffen on top of him and Charlie slowly raised his head from Steven's chest to meet his eyes. "I…Uhm…" Steven avoided eye contact as self-conscious ribbons of hot embarrassment tensed his muscles. "Don't look at me like that Charlie." He sounded annoyed, masking his humiliation at not only ruining their moment together but also harping on a subject Charlie didn't appreciate. "It's not like you have an commitments there, and you _still_ don't have a major…"

Static silence filled the room for a few aching moments before the sound of skin sliding echoed and the springs creak as Charlie released Steven and sat on the edge of the bed. Meeks rolled his eyes and mentally kicked himself. He knew how fickle Charlie was and now he was afraid that Charlie would leave. Asking him to transfer was another step closer to commitment, another step closer to something else Charlie didn't exactly agree with. "I…I think you'll like it here…" He added quietly as Charlie snorted.

"_You'll _like it here because then you can keep a close eye on me, right?," He bitterly tilted his head in Steven's direction as ginger eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Keep Dalton on a leash, he can't take care of himself, he can't be trusted!" Charlie ripped his pants off the floor and started dressing while Steven squeezed his blankets.

"N-no! That's not what-that's not what I meant at all!" He pushed off the covers in a panic and grabbed Charlie's arms just to be pushed off.

"_Fuck you_, I can take _care_ of _myself_!"

Steven was lost for words as he ran a frenzied hand through his hair and watched Charlie dress. "Damn it Charlie, I _know_ you can! That wasn't what I was _saying!_" He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Then what?" Charlie strode over to him while he buttoned his shirt; his face painted in fury. "What the _Hell_ were you saying?!" He jutted out his chin and was posed dangerously close to a Steven that was loosing his calm. "Answer me." At Steven's lack of response, Charlie fisted his collar and dragged him closer, "_Answer me, Jew!"_

That was a low blow. Steven snapped and his frustration rocketed to the surface, wrenching Charlie's hand off his collar and shoving him away harshly he shouted, "That I _love you!_"

Charlie stumbled backwards; it was his turn to be speechless as Steven turned around and braced himself on the foot of the bed, his hands grinding at the cool metal bar.

"Why the hell _else_ do you think I'd ask you to transfer?" His volume had significantly decreased but his tone remained clenched. "You're _miserable_ at Princeton, you _hate_ it!" He turned around to face his impassive boyfriend and rolled his eyes. "Yes, okay, _fine_ I'm being selfish because yes Charlie, I _do_ want you here-not because I don't trust you but because it physically hurts when-when…" He looked away, frustrated at the words that crawled in the back of his throat.

"Columbia is more like a playground anyway," His tone was soft now and dripping in anxiety as he rubbed the back of his neck abashedly. "There are a million things here Charlie-you can take Journalism classes here and you'll _like_ them. I'm not trying to trap you," His name sounded pleading as Steven looked to him, "I want you to be successful…_I'm sorry_."

"…What physically hurts?" Charlie regarded him suspiciously as Steven pursed his lips. Really, after all that, that's what Charlie had to say? Nothing _else_?

"Lots of things physically hurt." Was the flat, sliced response. Charlie scoffed and shook his head; this situation just wasn't _right_.

"…I…I feel like an idiot right now." He confessed as Steven folded his arms with a quiet laugh.

"Then all is as it should." They exchanged slanted expressions before Steven closed the distance between them and rubbed Charlie's arm. "I'm…you don't have to _prove_ yourself to me Charlie. I _know_ you can take care of yourself."

There was tense silence as they stared at each other then Charlie moved away from Steven's touch with a chuckle. "I…I _can't_ actually. I'm a fucking _mess_ without y…" He locked eyes with Steven briefly before he rubbed is hands together nervously. "I don't like admitting it." He said, muttering like a sullen child as Steven's chest swelled, reaching for Charlie and pulling him into a kiss that soon had them tumbling on the bed again like their brief argument had never happened.

Rain continued to hit politely against the window, their movements slower than before. Now that they had reached a sort of understanding, there was much more promised shared between them. Their eyes never left each other, Charlie rocked Steven back and forth-tantalizingly slow with their fingers interlaced.

The next time Steven woke, he was naked and Charlie was gone; leaving behind a cold bed and a light on in the bathroom. Steven sighed and curled around the empty comfort one of his pillows could offer.

He hated not knowing when Charlie would be back, it was always the same story.

As his hands slipped under the pillow, he was greeted with another soft touch that was distinctly _not_ pillow. Unearthing it, he recognized the heather grey material as Charlie's college sweatshirt and smiled, slipping it on he discovered it smelled like Charlie. He lifted the collar above his nose, leaving it there with his eyes closed and hugging the material.

It was Charlie's lucky sweatshirt, it was a promise and Charlie would be back. That's why he didn't feel the need to say goodbye.


	10. Back Before You

The phone released a pained ring as the receiver was slammed back down in its white, plastic cradle. "I won't, I will not call him." Steven was worried, nervous. Picking himself up from his bed he changed into a long sleeved blue shirt and lazily hoisted his bag up from the floor and on to his shoulder. Steven headed towards the library somberly, he knew that if he stayed in his dorm room he'd end up calling Charlie and that would make him feel like a petulant girl and probably irritate the hell out of Charlie.

Charlie had sent him no word for a little over a month-scaring Steven out of his mind; worried that he's unintentionally chased Charlie off. "Hey Stevie!" He almost didn't hear his shouted name or the footsteps running behind him. He did, however, snap back to reality when he was smushed in a tight hug. "I gotcha something!" He recognized the chipper voice and with his best face on he turned to face his brunette friend.

"Hey Stacy-"

"Don't look so sad!" She cuffed his shoulder even though she knew of his plight. "How can you be sad today?" She asked, pouting and already knowing the answer. Steven didn't say anything as he visibly deflated and she rested a hand on his arm, her bubbly tone smoothing into something much more solemn. "Hey, look, smile today, alright? You're twenty-two!"

Meeks's head snapped up to look her in the eyes. 'What?"

"Duh Steven!" She smacked her forehead, "Happy Birthday!" She handed him a present in plain brown paper and tied off with a wide, gold ribbon. It was heavy, he realized as she gingerly placed it in his hands and looked like it could be a vase. He stared at the present, "You for got it was your birthday, didn't you?" His eyes met her somber face soundlessly. "Where you headed?" she asked with an incline of her head.

"Library. I have to write-I have to write…_something_." He hesitated. He had an essay that was due in a week and a column that needed editing for the school paper but he'd probably just hit something out that captured his frustration, confusion and Charlie.

"C'mon," She linked arms with him. "I'll walk you."

Stacy was one of Steven's most trusted friends at Columbia. She was there for an art major and despite their very different classes; they still found time for each other. He liked that she was so much fun. Scrape away at that happy exterior and he was left with a person who was worth much more than she looked, he liked to call hr a modest philosopher but with a shake of her short hair and a boisterous laugh, those vulnerable moments melted away like hot butter.

She had recently ended a tumultuous relationship with an Italian. The most Steven had told her was that he was having relationship problems too, that his "girl" was being more or less fickle and he didn't know what to do. Even though he trusted her, Steven didn't know how she'd react to Carrie actually being a Charlie. Sure, Stacy had met Charlie before but Steven only bashfully introduced him as a close friend.

"So," She started, hesitating as they continued to walk through the college. Her eyes met him and they shared a brief smile. "Is that too heavy?" She motioned to the gift he was holding with two hands and he shook his head silently. "She hasn't called you yet?"

It took him a second to realize she meant Charlie and then shook his head again, slower. "Nothing. I'm afraid I…I'm afraid I messed up." He finished in a whisper, truly scared that he had. He remembered how angry Charlie had been. Maybe Charlie had just used him, one last fuck to seal the end of a relationship and he'd be on his way.

"How could _you_ "mess-up"? You're the most thoughtful person I know!" She exclaimed, reprimanding him for thinking so negatively of himself.

"I guess that's part of the problem." He mused bitterly, pushing open the glass doors to the library with his back. They proceeded to walk far back into the bookshelves, a dead area where rarely anyone appeared.

Steven sighed, leaning against one of the shelves. "I over think _everything_." He complained and Stacy rolled her eyes. Her fingers gently touched his arm.

"You are perfect the way you are. If she can't see that, maybe you should consider expanding your horizons." She rubbed his arm soothingly as Meeks clutched her present to his chest, aching for comfort. His melancholy eyes met with her somber ones and they stayed like that for a while. "I'm going to take advantage of the fact you have something breakable in your hands."

"Wha-" He was cut off by her lips on his, her hand snaking up to cup the back of his head. For a few stiff moments Steven stared down incredulously at his friend.

Stacy gently tongued his lip and Meeks released a noise of disbelief. "Mtmy…" He muttered her name into her lips as he took a step back and they broke apart. She looked up to him, vulnerable, as she gripped his sweater pleadingly. "Stacy I-"

"There you are!" Steven cringed in shock and ducked away at Charlie's loud voice, gripping his chest in panic as he whispered an elongated swear. "I've been looking for you…" He looked over to Charlie, his expression and tone were much darker than what they had been a second ago. Charlie blatantly ignored Stacy and grabbed one of Meeks's wrists, hauling his ass out of the library.

"Ch-Charlie?" His voice cracked as Steven let himself be dragged away. "The Hell-what are you doing-doing _here?_" Better than a phone call for sure but somehow it seemed that everything wasn't going to be all cuddles and sex.

"Were we having _fun_ back there?" Steven's stomach dropped, his mouth drying into cotton instantly. This was not going to be good. "I leave you for _five_ weeks!" Charlie kept walking at a harried pace, emphasizing his time away with a wave of a spread hand. "Five _fucking_ weeks and you can't _behave?!_ It was just _five weeks!_" Charlie dragged him through the college campus, short cutting across damp patches of flawless grass. As he continued his tirade, Steven was _very aware_ of bystanders with tilted heads and bemused expressions but he couldn't find it in him to care. Right then, he was absolutely petrified that this was it, it was all over. Charlie was going to take him into and alleyway and kil-"Were you listening to a _Goddamn_ thing I said?"

"Huh?" Steven was vaguely aware they're in the parking lot. Charlie's face was red through the duration of a pregnant pause and Steven meekly adjusted his glasses. "Ch-" He was abruptly thrown against the side of Charlie's green Morris Minor and boxed in.

"_Get in the car._" Charlie said, growling dangerously and Steven mutely complied, disappearing into the passenger seat, still clutching Stacy's present close to his chest. All he could think was _I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry-it wasn't my fault! I didn't know! You're a bastard Charlie. This is __**your**__ fault._

Charlie has driven out of the parking lot before he speaks again, not looking at the anguished redhead. "Who is she?" He asks bluntly, no longer growling or yelling.

"Fuck _you,_ Charlie," Steven sliced, shifting uncomfortably when he swore and stared out the window. He sounded much more confidant than he felt, "Who the hell are you to _vanish _for _five weeks_, come back and throw a fit? I don't have to tell you _shit_." He makes a point of scowling at Charlie in the mirror as Charlie's hands twisted angrily on his thin steering wheel.

"I could _kill_ you." Charlie whispered, Meeks continued staring out his window mutely. "I could fucking _kill_ you right now." Steven wants to say he's sorry just to make this heavy rolling feeling in his stomach go away but he's not in the wrong. He didn't invite Stacy to kiss him and he hadn't dropped off the face of the earth for five weeks. Steven wasn't sorry. "So is that it? Are we done?" Steven chewed at his cheek, refusing to be goaded into a reply.

There was a flurry of movement that Meeks saw out the corner of his eye. His eyes flicked to Charlie and it looked like he was wiping his face-was he _crying_? Oh _Jesus_.

"I…I-I'm _sorry_ Ch-" Steven was being sincere when he started to apologize but was cut off by Charlie's cracking voice, telling him to _please shut the fuck up._

Their fifteen-minute drive came to an end; Steven didn't know where they were other than the quieter part of the city. There was a park to his right and a row of older homes lined after the road to his left. "What are we doing here?" Steven's voice was quiet, concerned and Charlie had his face in his hands. "I'm _sorry_ Charlie…she attacked _me_-I would never-" He fell silent at Charlie's placid expression, anger in his brow.

"I could kill you." Steven didn't know if Charlie was being serious or not. His response was to mutely bite his lower lip nervously. Charlie ripped off his seat belt expression murderous as he stared intently at his passenger. Steven would have given any earthly possession to hear what exactly it was Charlie was thinking at the time. The analog clock ticked dispassionately through the car.

Charlie lunged towards Steven, attacking as Steven immediately reacted and hit him back, trying to get away from the aggression he was being faced with. "Stop it Charlie!" Charlie's claw like hands breached Steven's defenses, clapping around Steven's head and crushed their mouths together. Steven stopped fighting instantly.

Anger, frustration and hurt were forced through the kiss as Charlie pressed into Steven, attacking him. It was only when Steven extracted himself, his fingers insistently tugging on Charlie's collar, bringing their foreheads together as they panted they were both somewhat mollified. Mistakes were made on both sides-silent apologies were made as they stared at each other; Steven pressing another kiss to Charlie's dry mouth in reassurance and fingering away some of the snail trail tear tracks.

Charlie laughed, foolishly and humiliated as he moved back into his seat. "Happy birthday, Steven Meeks." Charlie inhaled, his breath hitching. Wiping his face again, he turned to look at Steven with red eyes. He cleared his throat, eyes landing everywhere but on Steven. Charlie regained his composure, inhaling deeply and flexing his fingers-only Steven flinched at the noise of cracked joints.

Steven was utterly bewildered; staring at Charlie he couldn't help but ask quietly, "Are you going to kill me now?" He exhaled relieved when Charlie started laughing albeit bitterly, alleviating most of the tension in the car.

" I probably should." He laughed and Meeks inclined his head with his signature slanted grin.

"You'd ruin my birthday…" Steven placed an apologetic hand on Charlie's thigh, rolling his eyes at his immaturity he sighed, "Look, I'm really sorry-she honestly did attack me I didn't-I didn't _know!_"

"Oh shut up," Charlie pushed Steven's head lightly, breaking the dramatic moment. "I was being stupid-five weeks is hell of a long time but," Charlie unbuckled his seat belt returning back to his usual self and offering Steven a signature smirk. "If you come with me, you'll find out what I've been doing." As Charlie's green door shut, Meeks threw his head back in the head rest, inhaling deeply.

Too many emotions too fast.

"Hey," A knock was administered to Steven's window. "You coming?" Steven bit back a groan as he undid his seatbelt and bit back the urge to remark _I have a bad feeling about this._ He followed Charlie across the street, silently admiring the small, houses pancaked next to each other. "Here…" Charlie was unlocking one as Meeks watched with a perplexed eyebrow.

The exterior was finished nicely in a gray, textured stone with a large stained glass window to the side that hid what looked to be a staircase. The door was white with a cracked finished that creaked lightly as soon as Charlie unlocked it and pulled Steven inside.

The inside was bare, soft fractures of colour bled onto the wood floor from the stained glass window. There was the faint smell of paint as Steven looked around entranced. There was a single forest green sofa in a carved wood frame in front of the empty fireplace.

"Meorr!" Steven's head snapped to the delicate mew and the jingle of an excited bell to see a little cream and brown ball of fur rolling around on the floor, peeking out under the couch with a little ball.

"What the-" Steven looked back to a placid Charlie who was too busy staring at the ceiling. "Charlie?" Their eyes met-Charlie grinned at Steven's perplexed expression. It made him feel accomplished.

"She's yours-if you want her." Charlie said, shrugging indifferently. Steven knelt down next to the Siamese kitten and cradled her to his chest.

"Hello there," He cooed, the kitten looked up at him with wide blue eyes before she started pawing at his nose. Charlie joined soon after, his eyes on the ground. "Thank you, Charlie-"

"'m not finished yet…" Charlie mumbled, his hands flexing agitatedly.

Really, Steven hardly though there needed to be anymore. He sat expectantly, cradling the Velcro-esque claws of his new kitten.

"Move in with me." Charlie's voice was quiet, hesitant yet it still knocked the air out of Steven's lungs. "I'm serious, move in with me."

"You're crazy." Steven replied, mouth dry and in a state of disbelief. Charlie quirked an eyebrow and gently pushed Steven.

"I'm _serious._" At the lack of a reply, Charlie changed his tactic. "If you don't say yes, I will _kill_ the kitt-"

"YES, YES I WILL MOVE IN WITH YOU!!"


	11. Can Go Forward

The tap squeaked loudly as Steven twisted the handle with a sigh; smiling when water burbled out into the bathtub. There was no better way to end a shoulder-tensing day than taking a bath.

He wandered into his bedroom, proceeding to shuffle out of his clothes and throw them in a corner that he'd take to the Laundromat later. A small sound emitted from his Queen-sized bed and he chuckled. The narrow head of a Siamese cat caught in a yawn raised from the crumpled duvet and Steven passed a hand over her back. "Hey Coon." He whispered and she meowed in acknowledgment. After pressing a light kiss to her head, he wandered back into the ceramic room where water was collecting.

Steam had already started to mist the mirrors and he wisely placed his glasses on the marbled counter that cupped his sink.

It was probably considered the gayest thing _ever_ but Steven _really liked_ bubble baths. He laughed self-consciously to himself as he poured some mint-scented soap into the water and watched the bubbles froth. There was another reason for it too but he'd never admit it because it was childish.

A relieved sigh passed his lips as he sank into the water and rested his head back on the cold ceramic basin.

Just for a moment he relaxed with nothing to do.

Then he sat up and reached over the side and grabbed a pile of note cards and started shuffling through them, mentally answering the questions posed. He had an English exam next week and he was going to make that test his _bitch_.

"Unferth, foil to Beowulf…"

College wasn't so bad. It was easier when he had convinced Charlie to transfer to the same college. Charlie spent most of his time visiting anyway, why not just go to the same classes?

"Wife of Hrothgar…"

With the way the world was turning out, Steven was pretty sure that he and Charlie would eventually find themselves in Canada-or maybe they'd go to Switzerland. They had great colleges there.

"Naegling…Naegling?" Steven stared at his card puzzled as he tried to recall the character.

"Beowulf's sword." There was a surprised splash and an exhale as Steven dropped his head into his chest.

"Funny, Charlie. _Real_ funny." Charlie smirked, smug that his entrance had gone unnoticed as he started pulling his socks off. "I'd like to live past the age of twenty, thank you."

"Yeah," Charlie's pointed smile dawned on his face as he teetered off balance. "So would I." Steven shook his head; smiling as Charlie chuckled. "Mmmmm, minty."

"Beowulf is a eulogy to the Age of Heroes because it was composed roughly between the eighth and eleventh century, the time before King Arthur." Steven mumbled as he fell back into his study mode and Charlie emitted a light scoff of to the side. "It's your turn to do the laundry." Steve hummed as he flipped over another card.

"I did it on Friday!" Charlie protested as Steven's mouth slanted.

"_Last_ Friday. I did a run on Tuesday, it's your turn."

"Well," The water made a noise as it was disrupted again by Charlie's foot, "_You_ are making dinner." Charlie slid into the bathtub, watching Steven intently.

" We're going out tonight," Over his card he saw Charlie roll his eyes and Steven couldn't hold back a grin. "It's Henry's birthday and his girlfriend is throwing him a party down at Dusty's Corner."

"Fun." Charlie stood and sprawled himself out alongside Meeks, hooking the crook of his arm around Steven's neck.

"Charlie," Steven flipped another card triumphantly as Charlie pressed chaste kisses up the back of his neck.

"mmn?"

"Studying." He replied, seemingly unmoved until his collection of cards was ripped out of his hands. "Char-!"

Charlie laughed as he held them out of reach. "Shut up would you? Now," He tipped the cards and tilted his head to read the question. " Who or what is _Hrunting_?"

"Beowulf's original sword that he uses in battle against Grendel's mother." Steven shot back, sour that Charlie stole his cards.

"Ding! Correct!" Charlie yanked Steven closer and pressed a kiss to his grimacing mouth before reading the next question. "Don't look so pissy, I'm helping you!"

"I know." They stared at each other for a slight of time before Steven smacked bubbles onto Charlie's nose. He sneezed sending snowflakes of foam in the air-Steven couldn't _breathe_ he was laughing so hard.

"Imma getcho for that."

Coon, Steven's cat, watched the two interact, a safe distance away from the splashing water and occasionally wincing at an unusually loud shout of laughter or yell of protest. _Humans, really._

_

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_I hate to burst your bubbles but I'm thinking this will be the end of consistent updates for sometime. I still have to pick which story to focus on-I have so many ideas for so many stories my head is ready to explode haha-I have to confess, one of the reasons there have been frequent updates is because I wrote (started) these three chapters AGES ago-a reason why they don't flow as nicely as they should-and finished them very recently. Sorry, I cheated.  
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_I hope you enjoyed~  
_


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